


Dreaming of Churrascarias

by 24_centuries



Category: Brick (2005)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-22
Updated: 2010-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-13 23:45:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/143001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/24_centuries/pseuds/24_centuries
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A cup of coffee and a slice of pie - the last meal of Brendan Frye.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreaming of Churrascarias

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pear](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pear/gifts).



> Thank you to my Beta Extraordinaire, Ellie. This is my third year of Yuletide and you've been my beta and e-hand-holder every single year!

The cold fluorescent lighting spotlighted the number of sad, lonely souls seated along the counter--the only seating available in the diner. There was a man dressed in an approximation of a Santa suit--if Santa’s reindeer had dragged him through the mud for miles and then dumped him in a pool of rum. The man staggered off the stool and walked behind the counter, grabbing a white apron as he moved back behind the line.

Brendan slid easily onto a stool with an empty seat on either side. He ordered pie because it was easily visible under its dome cover. This wasn’t the type of place where one tempted fate by ordering off the menu--state of the chef not withstanding. Coffee black--no sugar--and a slice of pumpkin pie, no whipped cream, no ice cream. He had never liked things too sweet and didn’t see the point in changing his tastes just because of the date. As opposed to years past, at least Brendan was aware that today was Christmas Eve, though that didn’t give the date any more significance to him. Brendan would have celebrated _this_ year, but there really wasn’t anyone left to celebrate with. Well, aside from Brain, and Brain was … Well, aside from Brain.

Brendan took a pull from his mug. Bitter, but strong, just like he liked it. The pie was really just to have something to do with his hands. He was in a pacing mood and he knew he couldn’t afford to be. He had to sit here and wait, let his mind play through everything that had happened over the last two years. Two years that had culminated in this dilapidated diner, with a chef on the sauce and two waitresses that looked like they could just as easily offer you a bump as a slice of pie. There was no room for what was right or just or fair in his reminiscing. Those words hadn’t applied to him since his middle school years and he wasn’t going to start dwelling on them now. If you consistently put your chips on the wrong number, you couldn’t possibly be expected to understand what it felt like to win.

He felt the weight of the stare even before he heard the shoes on the tiles. The steps were hurried and the breathing erratic. Excitement. Thrill. Obviously, a first-timer. Brendan held back the smile he felt tugging at his lips. He hadn’t taken quite the same route as this kid, but he could still remember the first time he felt his knuckles slam into another man’s face--two sets of bones protesting as skin split and blood flowed. There was power in a punch, and not just the physical kind. Brendan imagined that type of thrill was intensified when one was set on doing a little more than just splitting a lip or breaking an arm. He almost wished he could ask the kid what he was feeling--what he was thinking at that exact moment. He wanted to live vicariously through him while he still had breath in his lungs.

The kid chose the seat on the left of Brendan, which got his immediate approval. The old timer two seats down to his right had just left, so if the kid wanted to say anything, no one would hear. (Not that anyone looked sober enough to make them care to eavesdrop, but caution wasn’t a suggestion.) The gun was tucked into the back of his jeans – Brendan could tell by the way he adjusted his posture as he sat down. It was Gangster 101: sit too far forward and your piece is outlined by your shirt, too far back and your jeans can gap. And no one wants to drop a loaded weapon in a room full of people. Even these people. The kid didn’t smell drunk or look stoned or tweaked, so he was obviously riding that high for all it was worth. Brendan had once asked Basher – John Bachman to the IRS but Basher to anyone who had ever gotten plastered with the man and heard him slur his own name – what it had felt like, taking a life for the very first time. He had just shaken his head and said “Not something you really remember, B, when you’ve rubbed out as many as me.” Fair enough, Brendan had thought. But the kid was shaking his leg and thumping his fingers on the counter, enough that others were starting to take notice. Brendan sighed. And it had been going so well.

“Have some pie.”

“What?” Nervous glance, no eye contact. This might have been his first job, period, not just his first kill.

“The pie. It’s pretty good. I’m partial to pumpkin, myself.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Ah. Well, are you thirsty?” Eyes darted around, shoulders shifted, but no answer was forthcoming.

“Just curious to see someone in a diner, no food, no drink. Kinda suspicious, don’t you think?”

“I … I just didn’t decide yet.” He flagged the waitress before Brendan could even count to ten, ordering his coffee extra light and extra sweet and pecan pie.

“That’ll rot your teeth if you’re not careful.”

“What’s it to you?”

“Nothing, really. Just thought that if you’re going to try and appear hard-boiled, might want to cut back on your sweet tooth, Junior.” The kid’s eyes widened and he reached behind him for the gun. “Do you really want to make this mess here? In front of all these witnesses?” Brendan’s voice was low, purposely pitched so only the kid could hear him. “I doubt your boss would be happy with that.”

“You … you _know?_ ”

“I’ve been around the block once or twice. I know what to expect. I didn’t expect they’d send someone so green but everyone needs their first one under the belt.”

“You knew and you just sat here? Ordered pie and coffee?”

“Coffee and Pie, Oh My.” A nostalgic grin flashed across Brendan’s face, before fleeing. “I was just about to take a walk, Mister …”

“Kidd.”

“Of course.” Brendan dismissed the lie. Names were never as important as everyone believed. “Would you like to join me, Mr. Kidd.”

Kidd stood, a little less frantic in his movements, as if the mark knowing he was going to die ever made things easier. Brendan lead him down to the end of the block and turned into the alley. He walked until they were completely covered by the pitch of the night before stopping, turning.

“Is this far enough?”

“Uh … yeah. Yes. Stop there.” As if he remembered that he was supposed to be in control, Kidd stood straighter, squared his shoulders, jutted his jaw.

“Word of advice. Well, words.”

“You always give advice to the guy about to snuff you out?”

“No one has ever gotten this far. Look, don’t try so hard. You walked into the diner and I knew you were there. I felt your stare, heard the eagerness in your step. You want to go far in this business? Calm down.”  


Kidd pulled the gun from his waist band, released the safety.

“Any other last words?”

“How much were you paid?”

“That’s what you want to know? How much? Not who?”

“I know who. I want to know how much.”

“Enough.”

“Fifty thousand up front, fifty thousand upon proof of completion.” Kidd spun on his heels and pointed his gun right at their new companion’s nose.

“Who the fuck are –”

“I’m your employer so shut up. Fifty thousand up front and fifty upon completion. We’re going to have a little chat before you finish your part in this.”

“Nice to see you again, Brain.”

“Not another word. I’m on a time schedule.”

“How’s that working out for you?”

“Better when you shut up. Now, Dillinger – ”

Brendan snorted. “Kidd for me and Dillinger for him? You ever been Oakley, Kidd?”

Kidd wheeled back on Brendan. “Shut up!” His voice cracked, hand shook a bit as he focused all his attention back on his mark.

“Easy,” Brain said, dragged out the first syllable while he simultaneously came to stand should-to-shoulder with Kidd. “Don’t do anything rash. Hand me the gun, Kidd.”

“What? You’re not cheating me out of my cut! I found him, I got him out here, that money’s mine!”

“You’ll get your money once you’ve followed all of my instructions.”

Kidd slowly lowered the gun, glancing warily between Brain and Brendan, before hesitantly handing it over. Brain immediately put the safety on and placed the gun inside his trench coat.

“A trench coat, Brain? You get a trench coat and I don’t even get a poisoned drink?”

Brain ignored him and turned back to Kidd, a new gun in his hands held by a thick handkerchief. “This is your gun now. At the end of the alley, you’ll find a cooler. In it is a human head, with three bullet wounds in it. The face has been disfigured – ”

“Whoa, what?” Kidd’s voice cracked again and he took three steps away from Brain.

“… but the dental records will match. I need you to make the dump in the Jolly.”

“That’s not a river! It’s a cesspool!”

“Can it. It’s not really your head. Now, Kidd.”

“You’re crazy. You hired me to kill _him_ and now you’re … what?”

"Where did you get this kid?"

“Doesn’t matter. Kidd. Focus. Head. Jolly. Fifty thousand.”

Kidd’s head snapped at the mention of the money. His eyes visibly focused.

“I want more.”

“I figured you would. There’s two hundred thousand waiting for you on the south shore of the Jolly. Count it. Twice.”

“Ya hear Brain, Kidd? Then take a good long look at the head you’re dumping. Memorize that face. Remember what happens to people who rat on us.”

“Two … two _hundred_ …”

“Yes. Now go. And don’t tell anyone you were the one to kill him.”

Kidd backed out of the alley, grabbed the cooler and booked it. Brain turned back to Brendan.

“A trench coat.”

“Are you still on that?”

“I just don’t get it. And when did we agree to give him two? And why did you tell him not to tell anyone?"

“Getting inquisitive in your old age, Brendan. Tell a rookie to keep his trap shut and he’ll brag to anyone and everyone. _We_ didn’t agree, I did. He’s going to use the money to gamble, poorly, and he’ll have blown through it before Sid  & V come for him. He won't have the money to take care of the debt and they'll fit him for a pair of cement shoes. We’ll be fine.”

“And Sid & V?”

“They don’t even know I knew you. Know you.”

“So when did your flight leave?” Brendan moved so he was directly in front of Brain.

“About an hour ago. Tragic, really. Of course I shouldn’t have been flying a plane in that weather, so soon after getting my license.”

“I don’t think you should be flying planes, period.”

“Do you have another plan for how we’re getting to Brazil?”

“Hey! I said Costa Rica.”

“We’ll make a pit stop. Promise. Now c’mon. We have to tail Kidd to make sure he follows through.”

Brendan rewound on warp speed to three years before, when he and Brain realized how sick they both were of everything. Their lives had been mired in drugs and murder since their early teens and they were just...tired. Their combined loot would have let them retire just about anywhere, and they were both in the mood for some _churrasco_. So they had spent a year concocting a plan, two years executing it, and here they were, about to set off for Brazil. Fresh start. New beginning.

“Brain?”

“Yeah, Brendan.”

“You think we’ll ever make it back?”

“As Brian and Brendan? Doubt it.”

“Hmm. You did good, Brain.”

A shared grin, then, with a wink, "Go to sleep, Brendan.”


End file.
